


Comfort

by khazadqueen (ama)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, tea makes everything better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/khazadqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bifur wakes up with a horrific migraine, and his husband is the greatest in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> based on two different tumblr prompts, one for Bifur with a migraine and one for Bifur and Oin's married life. as usual, italics indicates iglishmek

He wakes up one morning and thinks that his head is finally going to split for real. Bifur keeps his eyes squeezed tight and grips his pillow tighter, but it doesn't feel like his head is bleeding—not a wound, then, just a migraine. His head gives a particularly nasty throb and he moans in protest.

"Did you say something, love?" Oin asks. Bifur doesn't reply; he knows how this works. He can abide hearing conversation when his head aches like this, but the rumble of his own voice in his skull (why had Mahal made their tongue so damned cacophonous?) was too much. As for shaking his head--no, he wouldn't even think of doing that.

He can heard the soft thump of Oin's boots on the floor and knows that his husband is already up and preparing for the day. Oin is usually awake first of the two of them, although Bifur likes to get up early when he can and prepare breakfast—it is his personal opinion that Oin, like most Dwarves, cares far too much for salted pork and creamy stews and not enough for things like honey and apples and fresh, crunchy greens, and he is not above bullying an apothecary into eating them more. On this morning, he just lies still and breathes and tries to think of what he'll be able to do for the next few hours. Not visit his cousins, like he had planned. Not work on the tricky carvings of his toys by the light of a bright candle or the sun. Maybe he can begin to whittle the vague shape of some creatures, or cut out cloth for dolls, and just leave the more elaborate bits for a better day. He sighs—like most Dwarves, Bifur hates being idle.

He opens his eyes when he hears Oin's footsteps returning and smells something sweet and spicy—but not strong enough to turn his stomach. He opens his eyes and pushes himself up on one elbow as Oin sits on the edge of the bed and holds out a steaming mug.

"Cinnamon tea," Oin says. "Hopefully it'll help more than the ginger did last time."

Bifur accepts the cup with a smile and takes a small sip. It's warm and delicious—not like the tea Oin had made last time he woke with such a bad headache, which had only served to make him gag. He's not sure if this will stop the pain, but at the very least he'll enjoy it.

 _I love you_ , he signs, and the corner of Oin's eyes crinkle.

"Oh, you'll say anything to a medic coming with remedies—when you first got that axe, you told me you loved me for saying hello at the start of my shift."

 _I did_, he signs insistently. _Because it was you_.

Oin smiles and strokes his hair.

"Do you need me here?"

 _No_.

His hand makes the short gesture reluctantly. Oin is busy near constantly, with miners having accidents and children being children and all the stubborn dwarrows who refuse to admit they are injured until they need serious attention, and normally Bifur wouldn't pass up a single moment they get to spend in peace. But it would be selfish, he thinks, to demand that his husband ignore all those other ailments for something that just needs to be borne.

Oin examines his face for a moment as Bifur takes a larger gulp of tea, and nods to himself.

"I'll be home early, and I'll see if I can beg some o' that nut bread you like off of Kara, hm? Not too thick, is it?"

He'll bring back nut bread and wildflowers, Bifur thinks, his heart kindling with warmth—Oin has _that_ kind of look, the kind he gets when he's happily keeping a secret. The wild orchids that grow at the foot of the mountain are in bloom.

Bifur nods and leans forward for a kiss. He winces a little as the jostling movement makes his head throb, but one kiss and then he can lay back down and perhaps sleep again. Oin smooths his hair again and smiles.

"Zatâgrf mudum, melekel," he murmurs in a voice so low he probably can't hear it himself, which doesn't cause Bifur any discomfort. Bifur pats his hand fondly.

He still can't say that he's looking forward to the day, exactly, because while the cinnamon tea will make it easier to work for a little while, it can't work miracles. He will still probably be forced to stay in bed most of the day, but he's cheerier knowing that he can look forward to the return of his true One later that evening.

**Author's Note:**

> Zatâgrf mudum, melekel - Take comfort, half of all halves (at least, it's SUPPOSED to say that...)


End file.
